How 'bout Them Waffles?
by Cordaela
Summary: When the abuse from her father Jeb becomes too much, Max runs away and tries to track down her mother who ran away when Max was three. Along the way, Max stops in an old Waffle House and meets a guy named Fang, who offers to help her in her search. FAX!
1. Chapter 1

_Slap._

My head was thrown back and the sound or the slap echoed across the kitchen, back to me, standing in front of my very pissed father.

_Slap. _

I hissed through my teeth and glared at fore mentioned father. "Ouch, that one actually hurt, Dad," I said sarcastically. At this point, it was either sarcasm or tears and I sure as heck was not going to let this man see me cry.

_Slap._

For a moment, I was tempted to slap him right back. Give him a taste of his own medicine…Let's see how HE liked having an angry red handprint tattooed on his cheek. But I resisted- it would just fuel his temper and give him a _reason_ to slap me, which was something he didn't have at the moment.

_Slap._

But then, slowly, the fury began fading from his eyes, and the hectic red spots on his cheeks started melting away. Thank god, the slaps have stopped…for now. Before he decided that he wasn't finished with me, I backed away and fled to my room.

I shut the door, softly. Before collapsing on my bed, I stole a glance in the mirror. That was a mistake. My eyes were frenzied, and my cheek was a bright red. I softly put my hand over the long fingers of the handprint Jeb had left on my right cheek. It stung. Yep, I was gonna look like crap in the morning.

Then, I collapsed. My bed caught me, saving me from further injury.

I stared at the ceiling. Where other teenage girls might have posters of the Jonas Brothers, Justin Timberlake, or Robert Pattinson, I had nothing. My ceiling- and walls, for that matter- were plain and empty.

However, I didn't really care.

I didn't intend on staying in this place long enough to redecorate anyway.


	2. Escape

**AN- Hey guys I want to apologize for this taking so long- so much has happened recently and it was just…wow. But now I'm back, and writing! This chapter isn't much- I'm just trying to get into the habit of writing again so…bear with me.**

**:/-\:/-\:**

After several minutes of staring at my ceiling, I looked over to the backpack sitting beside my bed. It was faded blue, and tattered on the straps. However, this sorry looking backpack contained all the things I would need for anything I might encounter in the near future- a laptop, cash, pre-paid phone, and food enough to last a week. It had been sitting in the exact same place for several days. Sitting there... Always in the back of my mind and the words tied to it echoing in my head-

Escape.

Freedom.

Flight.

All I needed was the nerve to take that first step- to open my bedroom window, slide down the roof, and fade into the darkness.

The nerve was a bit slow coming.

But tonight…tonight was it. This was the night I would break down my prison walls, get away from my father, and discover the true meaning of the word "free". Maybe have a little adventure along the way.

I slowly rose off of my bed, stepping on the carpet quietly, making sure that no sound was there to alert my father. I picked up and weighed the faded bag in my hands, wondering how long it would be on my back. I pulled a small card from my back pocket- on it was a pin number to activate my prepaid phone. I quickly typed in the number. Then, slowly and deliberately, I took the SIM card out of my current cell phone. I slid that into my pocket, where it sat next to the padlock for my bike. Looking around my room one last time, I put on my jacket and tennis shoes, and then slung the backpack over my shoulders.

I slipped out the window without a sound.

~*~

The garage was already open when I got there moments later. In the corner, carefully tended with tires full of air, was my bike. I pulled my jacket around me tighter as I searched for my old helmet. It was sitting in a corner, a thin layer of dust coating the surface. Recently, when i rode my bike late at night, I would leave the helmet. It seemed too confining, and one of the best parts of riding was feeling my hair blow out behind me. But I didn't want to get seriously hurt, so I snapped the helmet's straps underneath my chin.

It felt bulky…and stupid.

But as I rode off into the night, the bulky stupidity of my helmet didn't matter. It didn't matter that when dad discovered I was gone, there's no telling who would come after me.

All that mattered was that I got out- and I was out.

* * *

**Sorry that was so short- it will get better, I promise.**


	3. Searching

I pedaled down the dark streets I knew so well. Passing the Martinez's house, I noticed Ella's light was still on. We didn't live too far away from each other, and had been friends since I started middle school. Her parents were nice- her mom was a vet, and her dad…well, I'm not sure what her dad does. Something high paying, I assume, to be able to afford a house in this area of town. But I glided past their house, not stopping, because I wanted to put as much space between my father and myself as possible.

Houses flew by in a blur as I sped past on my bike, heading to what- at the moment- seemed like an attainable goal.

Georgia.

That state which, in my mind, seemed to reek of southern hospitality and Martha Stewart clones. Don't get me wrong- I'm not hatin' on Georgia. It's just that it sounds so…cushy. And yes, cushy is indeed a real word (I looked it up on ). But despite the whole cushiness of it, Georgia held something I wanted.

A person.

More specifically, my mom.

My mom had left me with my dad back when I was little- around two or three. When she left, there was nothing to show that she'd been there in the first place. There were no pictures. No letters. No old home videos. Nothing but the knowledge that I had a mother at some point, and now she was gone.

I had asked my dad about her. Once. I was eight, and didn't know that Mom was a "delicate" topic. Obviously, dad had to know something about mom. When I asked him, however, he gave me with vague answers, designed not to give me any information. So, instead, I went to the filing cabinets in our basement.

When in doubt, ALWAYS look for a filing cabinet.

In the filing cabinet, I found my birth certificate. On it were the names of my parents- Jeb and Sharon Ride.

Sharon?

Not the name I would have guessed, but it worked.

Then, when I was twelve, I learned of the magic of the internet. Google, in particular. I won't bore you with the details, so I'll just come out and say it-

I googled my mother.

Surprisingly, the name Sharon Ride didn't get as many hits as I thought it would. I was glad- it gave me less to sort through. I clicked on the first hit- it was a Facebook page for a teenaged girl in Colorado. Nope.

I went to the next hit- another Facebook link followed it. I think I screamed- the lady (if that's what it was) was from Germany, had an unborn, giant wart, and something that could pass for a mustache. Shuddering, I returned to the search page, knowing there was no way my mother looked like…_that_. I went back to my search, full of 12 year old optimism and hope.

By the time I got to the second to last search result, my hope had dwindled down to a measly four letter word. I clicked without much enthusiasm on what looked to be a blog post link. I was taken to the page of a photographer in Savannah, Georgia. I scrolled down the page, simultaneously scanning through the words and keeping an ear out for dad, who was due home at any time. But my worry of being discovered (even then I was on edge with him) dissipated as I read the blog entry. It was about a photo shoot the lady- I think her name was Katie- had done. In the blog post, Katie was describing the many photos on the page, and my twelve year old self nearly jumped for joy when I saw the sentence I had been looking for. "Here's Sharon Ride- my roommate from college. She was just in town a few days ago- she was so photogenic, I couldn't resist pulling out my old Nikon and taking a few pics of her. Just LOOK at that smile!" The blog post showed it was written 6 months ago. The lady is the photograph did indeed have a wonderful smile. She also looked oddly familiar- it was almost like looking into a mirror. Same dirty blonde hair, although hers was shorter and more stylishly cut. The eyes were a bit larger and farther apart, but still mine.

At that moment, I was truly happy- thrilled, even. But the feeling of elation quickly died as I heard a door open behind me. Dad's body cast a shadow on the computer screen. His voice, when he began to speak, was menacing, dripping with bitterness and sarcasm.

"Max, honey, what's that?"

I knew by the tone of his voice that he didn't even have to ask.

~*~

Needless to say, the rest of that night was far from pretty. I stayed home from school the next day- although it was more like he kept me home to hide the bruises now scattered on my arms, back, and face. I watched as he called the secretary of my school, voice colored by honey sweet tones that (to an outsider) were both sympathetic and fatherly. "She's sick," he said, and only I could see the face that gave him away…the smirk on his lips, the cold, hard glint in his eyes. It was then that I knew that I would have to escape this guy before he decided that I wasn't worth keeping around...Because if he decided THAT, then I was good as dead.


	4. Airborne

I remember a long time ago, a young boy looked over at me and asked, "When are ya gonna jump?"

We were swinging, and as the seats flew higher and higher, carrying us with them, the boy began to cast me worried looks.

"We're pretty high up, ya know."

No duh, Sherlock.

In fact, I did know. I knew quite well how high we were off of the ground. I knew that Kevin- the boy next to me- was afraid of heights.

But I wasn't.

So we kept climbing the air, higher and higher until I felt rather than saw Kevin losing altitude, and saw that his legs were no longer furiously pumping. That was when I jumped.

I jumped from that swing and flew through the air, feeling the adrenaline surge through my veins for the few seconds I was airborne. It was exhilarating, addicting.

I landed, and through gasping laughter looked back at Kevin. He was still in the seat of the swing, staring at me with eyes wide and shocked.

"Why did you go that high?"

I thought for a moment. "Why didn't you?"

.o0o.

Now, years later, I had taken another jump. An even bigger one- leaving more time for me to fly through the air, and it promised a harder impact once I came back down to earth.

At the moment, I was still in the air. The adrenaline rushed through my veins as I pedaled down back roads, as I slept in miscellaneous fields under a dark blanket of stars. I hadn't come off of the "freedom high" yet, as I had dubbed it. I kept pushing east, knowing that my fall back to earth was coming, and trying to cover as much ground as I could until then.

I ended up at the Missouri state line before the first major hitch in my plans was made apparent.

I was out of food.

I emptied out the full contents of my bookbag, and found only food wrappers and inedible supplies.

Wonderful.

I guess that meant I would have to stop soon and eat off-the-road for the first time in 4 days.

I pulled out my phone and went to Google maps, looking for the closest food to where I was.

The first result? _Waffle House. _

I don't think my bike has ever gone so fast.


End file.
